


good boys are bad boys

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drug Use, Fucked Up Relationships, M/M, Prostitution, Smoking, Smutty, kind of a happy end tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1672799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe fucking for fun isn't so funny after all.<br/>(or the one where Harry finds himself smoking a lot and falling for a slag).</p>
            </blockquote>





	good boys are bad boys

 

-

 

Harry shivers in the cold outside of the club and lights himself a fag. Too damn stupid that it's not allowed to smoke in there anymore. He draws a deep hit from the cig and enjoys the satisfying taste of the nicotine, he feels it filling his lungs, taking days and months and years of his life off his pathetic shoulders.

His eyes roam the scene around him. He's not the only one out here in the cold smoking. A couple of metres away from him, there's a blond twink in glittery golden shorts, a light jacket wrapped around his obviously naked torso and hell, if Harry in his long jeans, jumper and leather jacket is cold, then that guy must be freezing.

The brunette watches the blond out of the corners of his eyes and is tempted to go over to him and ask him if he's up for a quick shag or something, because he sure as hell wants those thin legs wrapped around his body while he pounds into that perky ass in those tiny shorts.

"You done with your staring, creep?", the blond suddenly speaks up and blows out the smoke he had kept in his mouth until now. Harry startles but regains his composure quickly.  
"Not that there's much to stare at, Blondie.", he replies coolly and shrugs. The guy chuckles humourlessly and takes a few steps towards Harry, blows his cigarette smoke into Harry's face, who only lifts his eyebrows.

"Is that an e-cigarette you're smoking?", he asks and the blond smiles cheekily and nods.  
"Most of my customers don't like it when I smell like a railway."  
Yeah, Harry had thought already that this was the guy's occupation. "So, you're free now?"  
The twink rolls his eyes and takes a pull on his cig. "I'm on my break, what's it look like, twat?"

"Oi, don't be mean to probable future customers!", Harry grumbles but there's no heat behind his words. Blondie snorts.  
"I don't need you to be my damn customer, I got lots. They keep coming, asking for the pale blond cunt with the bad gag reflex.", he says casually but grimaces then. "They love to hear me choking on their fucking pricks."

Harry's eyes widen and he gulps. This should not turn him on, no, on the contrary he should be even more disgusted with people than he already is. He throws his fag onto the floor and stomps it out, a couple of minutes of silence later, the blond puts his e-cig away, too, and sends Harry one last glance.

"Stay in school, upper middle class chap, and stop wearing Versace leather jackets in these trashy parts of the city. You might get mugged, posh boy.", Blondie snorts and waves at Harry, turning around, going back into the club.

The lad leaves Harry rather dumbfounded, he usually doesn't get treated like that, but alright, he'll take it for once and just follow quietly.

-

 

The club is stuffy and way too hot, especially when coming from the icy cold outside. Harry looks around for the blond, but doesn't find him, of course. Another man finds him, instead, and chats him up.  
"Hey fella, you look mighty fine.", he older guy says with a cheesy grin and Harry just wants to puke right into his greasy fucking face. Why always the old ugly geezers?  
"Thanks, but aren't there whores around here to listen to your dump pick-up lines?"  
He loves how the bloke's face fells and gets furious in an instant.

"Fine", the man spits and leans away from Harry. "I've seen a cute blond one and I bet he'd love to take it up the arse for me."  
Harry quits his silent amusement and turns his full attention to the grimy man. "A blond one? Where?"  
"Oh no, shit head. This one's mine now.", the man grins and walks away from Harry, who grunts and paces off to the bar.

"He, barkeeper!", he calls out over the loud music buzzing through the club. "Where's the pale blond cunt... with the bad gag reflex?"  
The barkeeper glares at Harry but answers nonetheless. "You mean Irish? Probably in the back of the club, you know, he's a--", he get interrupted by a guy wanting something to drink, but Harry's got the information he wanted.

He makes his way through the crowd, to get where the blond, Irish, could be found, perhaps. There is a big door in the far back of the club, a tall and bulky man positioned in front of it, who looks at Harry with one raised eyebrow.

"So, uhm, do you...", Harry starts and sweats lightly, because duh, that guy is even taller than Harry himself. "Do you... know where I can find... Irish?"  
As a reply, the bulky man only smirks and steps back from the door, pointing towards it. "There."  
"Oh, okay, thanks.", Harry says and is quick to leave the man behind and scurries through the door.

Backstage, or whatever this is, the whore house, there are a lot of doors and curtains and yes, this is definitely brothel, isn't it? He's in this club for the first time, how's he supposed to know?  
Thin slags in glittery clothes, which don't hide any skin wander about and it makes Harry feel kind of uncomfortable, if he's honest. He isn't one for brothels, he really isn't, but he needs to find Irish.

"Uh, hey", he calls some chick with boobs that are unnaturally huge. "Where's the pale blond guy... Irish?". The girl gives him a sly grin, her lips smeared with red lipstick.  
"Follow me, boy.", she tells him and steps backwards and alright, he'll follow her.

"Ey yo, Irish! You got a new customer, and he's not even fifty!", the whore exclaims as they reach a shabby green door. She winks at Harry conspiratorially.  
The door opens and a blond head appears. Irish instantly rolls his eyes and sighs when he lays his eyes onto the curly-haired bloke.

"Posh boy! I should've known you would come after me. No idea what I expected, come in.", Irish says and beckons Harry to enter.  
When he's inside, Irish closes the door again and turns to face Harry, who can't help but look at these fucking glittery shorts, for hell's sake, they do not look as good on anyone, or any whore, as they do on Irish.  
"So, what do you want? How do you want it?", Blondie asks and approaches him.

"I, uhm-- I was just checking that this old bastard wouldn't come and, uh--"  
"Fuck me senseless? Yeah, not that I haven't done that before, right?", Irish finishes Harry's sentence, who winces at the harsh words. The blond lad only shakes his head at that.  
"Want me to suck you off? Now, that you saved my virtue and honour?"

And shit, Harry's already here, already in this mess, so he could go on with it, yeah? That's what he wanted anyway, didn't he?  
Irish then takes over Harry's thoughts as he drops to his knees in front of him and starts unbuckling Harry's belt.

"Enjoy it, posh boy, choke me."

-

 

Harry comes back to the club, the brothel, whatever it is. Of course he does, and he finds himself feeling more and more attracted by Irish every time he comes to him. He knows he shouldn't, that Irish is only a warm mouth, a hole, it's his job to pleasure Harry, but he can't help but be drawn towards the blond. Irish is funny, very sarcastic and witty. He knows what he's talking about, no matter what the subject is, may it be sex, may it be politics.

Not that they get to talk too much, besides "Fuck, faster!" and "Ah, yeah, like this!". Harry thinks to know Irish nonetheless. Somehow. Pieces of him, of his personality, but he definitely wants to know more, this isn't enough. He's greedy and while he could map Irish's skin and muscles by now, he barely knows anything about the guy, besides that he can go from endearing to fucking dirty talking in seconds.

"You're really a posh rich boy, yeah? Coming here all the time... you've become a regular.", the blond says after they both lay on the bed, exhausted and tired. "But it's better that it's you than one of these...", Irish grimaces, but Harry understands anyway and hums agreeingly.

"Is... is Irish really your name?", he wonders then and faces the blond next to him, who stares up at the ceiling.  
"No, it's not.", he admits after a while, gaze hovering around.  
"What's your name then?", Harry asks further and he really wants to know, wants to get to know the boy he's been shagging for the past few weeks, wants, wants, wants.

"Look...", the blond sighs loudly and and covers his eyes with his hands, elbows sticking up into the air. The pale expanse of his chest exposed and Harry wants to touch the man all over again. "Let's... let's not let this become personal, yeah? You seem like a decent enough bloke, but I'm not your friend, I'm not your lover, I'm nothing. I'm a bowing acquaintance, if any. We are nothing but business-related, alright?"

And yes, alright, Harry understands. He comes. They fuck. He pays. He leaves. That's it, that's how it works, yet Harry somehow doesn't want it this way. He wants Irish, all of him, not just the flesh, but he knows he can't have him. Therefore he lifts himself up and gets dressed, leaving after giving Irish the money he earned for the night, telling him "Until next time.", and even if Harry can't have Irish, he at least wants to enjoy what he actually is able to have of the Irishman.

His heart feels betrayed nonetheless.

-

"You hardly ever come to pubs with us anymore, Harry. This is like... once in a lifetime again. Who caught your eye?", Louis wonders and helps himself to a cigarette, which he steals out of Harry's pack. Harry can't help but wince a little at Louis' words because he doesn't know how to answer his friend. That he's fucking a whore in some brothel? That he's falling for said whore? No, Harry sunk low in his life and his friends know that, but they won't accept him fancying a brass.

"Oh, no one, really. I'm just trying to keep up with work and you know, I can't live off of my parent's money forever...", he says and shrugs casually, lighting a cigarette, too, taking a deep pull. Ah yes, nicotine, how much he loves its taste of doom.

"Yeah right, as if that has bothered you like ever before.", Louis sneers and rolls his eyes. "I've called Alice in the company and she told me you weren't there, nor has she seen you there in, what, months?"  
Harry releases a long sigh of smoke in direction of the small window in the sleazy pub and grumbles. "Alice needs to be reminded who the fuck runs the fucking business."

"Oh, we're swearing now, aren't we?", Louis muses and licks his lips, which are chapped from the cold. "But let's be real here, Haz, you're not the one running the business, you're barely even present there. Now, what or who's taking up your time?", the shorter lad asks and eyes Harry warily up and down, trying to figure out the facial expression of the curly-haired bloke.

Harry doesn't answer and just stares at the fag in his left hand and the glass of cheap whisky in his right. The table they're sitting on feels greasy and frail. He never really liked pubs like these, anyway, even though his mates decided that it was kind of their meeting spot.

"God, Harold, please don't tell me it's drugs again? Smoke all you want, but only these goddamn nicotine cigs, okay? You heard me?", Louis groans and slams a hand onto the table, making his own whisky jump a little.

"Fuck you, Louis! No, it's not bloody drugs, for god's sake!", Harry shouts back and presses his cigarette out in the ashtray next to him. This outburst gets Louis to stare into Harry's eyes more intensely, something mischievous appears on his face.

"Is it a slag?", Louis pulls on his fag and blinks almost innocently at Harry.  
The taller lad tenses and balls his hands into fists. "What did you just say?"  
"Oh", Louis leans back in his chair and even dares to grin a little. "I was just saying that maybe some slut prevents you from hanging with your mates?"

"What? I don't understand you! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, prick?!", Harry hisses, trying to control his temper. "Are you implying that I'm fucking some whore?"  
Louis shrugs and tips his cig a bit, dust falling off it. "Didn't say that, actually. But now I guess I know what's going on.", he leans forward again. "How's it?"

"How's what? How's what?", Harry grunts and narrows his eyes at his pal. "Fucking for fun? Fun. It's fun. What do you want to hear, Louis?"  
"Ho, ho.", Louis huffs and cocks his head to the side. "I don't know why you're getting so angry when it's just fucking for fun with a random whore."

Harry grits his teeth. "Right.", he hums and rubs a hand over his cheeks. It's scruffy and he should probably shave soon. He frowns. "I think I should go, though... see you... soon. Here's the money, pay for me." He gives Louis enough money to pay for his drinks and then leaves.  
Irish is definitely crawling too deep under his skin.

-

He doesn't know anywhere else to go, so of course he goes to the club to find Irish and if Irish's not there, well, then Harry would probably get pissed until he blacks out. Not a good plan. Not a good plan at all and it makes him furious, Louis makes him furious, his own feelings make him furious.

Harry slams the doors open as far as that's possible and he just so refrains from yelling Irish's not real name. When he finds him, still blond and pale and beautiful, with another guy, he punches the bastard, who touches Irish right into his fucking jaw, spitting right into his face.

"He's mine! No one dare touch him! Fucking leave before I knock the lights out of you, you filthy pubic louse!", he screams and wants to hit this sick fucker again, but then he sees Irish again, blue eyes filled with panic and anger and he looks so tired and done and Harry stops.

"I-- I'm--", he stammers and stares at the blood on his knuckles, then at the pained expression on Irish's face.  
"Leave, posh boy. Leave now.", the blond says and his voice sounds so far away and weak, that Harry can't disobey him, even though he wants to. Wants to take Irish with him and keep him save.

He runs. He runs away from the bodyguards and he's fast enough, or maybe Irish told them not to follow him, who knows. Harry doesn't know anything anymore, he only knows that he feels too much at the moment and that he needs to get away. Smoke maybe. Just leave this world for a while.  
No drugs, he promised, and even if Louis is a bloody arse, he won't break it.  
He needs something else to do.

-

Chocolate seemed about the right thing to get last night instead of alcohol or drugs. It didn't help him, though, anyway. Harry feels like shit and the knowledge that he probably can't ever come back to Irish and the club weighs hard on his shoulders.

"Fuck my life, fuck my life, fuck my life.", he says it like a mantra, rolling out of his poor excuse of a bed in his poor excuse for a flat. Coffee, he thinks then. Coffee with rum. Good idea, best idea he's ever had, most likely, rum is a great solution. He's had chemistry. Alcohol can do a lot. In science. The human body is science. Fuck it, rum.

He doesn't expect Louis to sit on the plastic chair in his wannabe kitchen, a mug of coffee already sitting in front of him.  
"I've witnessed your... moment of anger last night. I've seen your... love interest. I must say, at least it's a luxury whore, isn't he? Niall James Horan from Mullingar, Ireland, otherwise known as Irish. Barely legal when he came here, selling his body for other's to take."  
Louis takes a long sip.

"What? Sorry? I didn't quite catch that. Niall Horan? Irish? What exactly are you on about...", Harry asks in a hoarse voice, glaring daggers at his so-called friend.  
"Huh", Louis blinks. "Your drunk ass threw a tantrum last night, clobbered some scumbag and declared that the blond twink is only yours to have."

"I know what I did, Louis! I'm not hungover, my memory is perfectly intact!", Harry shouts and kicks a kitchen shelf, almost breaking it. His whole furniture probably costs more than his whole pathetic life is worth, all thanks to his pratty parents and their fucking money. Ah yes, money makes happy, oh so happy.

"Well, that's what I'm on about. Yes. I also have given the twink your address so he can sue you.", Louis adds with a grin and empties his cup. "You should also clean your flat some time, it looks like a rubbish tip. One might think you're not a posh boy, yeah?"

"Fuck you, Louis, fuck you a thousand fucking times! I'm going to kill you and your whole fucking family, understood?!", Harry screams and wants to grab his mate's collar and hit him until he's unconscious, but he's not a complete arsehole and he-- he's not like that. He doesn't do things like that usually. It's just that Irish-- or wait-- Niall Horan? Niall. It's just that Niall drives him up the walls without even trying to.

Suddenly he smells smoke, but it's not real cigarette smoke, it's... it's... Harry darts his eyes to where the kitchen leads to a balcony, on the very right side to where Louis is sitting.  
"You're a bloody eejit.", Blondie blows the smoke of his e-cig out of his mouth.  
Harry slumps his shoulders. "I-- I know that. I'm a dumbass. You're not mine and we're just business."

Niall smirks at that and nods. "Took you long enough to get that, posh boy.", he says. "The thing is, though, that I somehow can't get your annoying dimples out of my mind and I know that I'm well fucked because of that."  
Harry's eyes widen and his jaw drops. "W-What? What?"

The blond glances at Louis and raises an eyebrow. "Does he always talk that coherently?"  
Louis shrugs nonchalantly. "Mostly. Sometimes he sleeps."  
Niall snorts and puts his e-cigarette away. He's wearing normal every day clothes, nothing glitters, nothing is sparkling, nothing is even remotely gay.

Silence occurs for a few moments, where all three of them stare onto their feet, or in Louis' case into the empty cup.  
"Niall?", Harry speaks up in a very small voice, not daring to look the blond into the eyes.  
"Yeah?", comes the reply instantly.  
"Would you, uhm-- go on a date with me, maybe?"

Harry squeezes his eyes together and he doesn't want to hear a negative answer, he can't bear it.  
"Okay", Niall sighs lightly and then, all of a sudden, there are slim fingers on Harry's cheeks, pulling him into a timid kiss.

They never kiss. They never had kissed. They just had, well, fucked. Niall never-- he never let Harry's lips near his. This is a new, a wonderful first and Harry, greedy fuck he is, wants more, of course he does.  
When they pull apart, Harry looks at Niall out of big eyes and sees a small smile playing on the blond's lips. "You're mine now?"  
"No.", Niall shakes his head but his eyes twinkle. "I'm not yours yet. I'm still a prostitute and this is probably not going to work out, but I-- I've never said this before... to anyone... but I'd like to try. With you. Just don't start fights, alright?"

"Alright.", Harry breathes and he'd do anything for Niall, anything. "You... want to choke me with your dick? I've got a good gag reflex, though."  
Niall actually laughs at that and places a soft kiss on Harry's lips. They both don't hear a slightly grumbling Louis leaving the flat, mumbling something about fucked-up relationships.

And yeah, maybe Niall is right, this isn't going to work out. Not with Niall's occupation and not with Harry's jealousy issues. Not with fucked-up lives like they have, but it could be worse, right?  
It could, Harry's sure and they're going to die 15 years too early anyway, so who the fuck cares.

-

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any errors, enjoy it! :)


End file.
